


Fuck Mr. Peregrine

by Lepak



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Established Relationship, Fluff, Let's deal with our school-related trauma, M/M, References to Drugs, With a tiny bit of Trangst, brief reference to depression, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29696196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lepak/pseuds/Lepak
Summary: Jean sets his magazine down when Trant comes into the bedroom. "How's the kid?" he asks, sitting upright."Worried." Trant pulls his sweater vest over his head and hangs it up. "And a little anxious. He thinks it's all his fault, and that he should've just kept quiet instead of making Mr. Peregrineupset."---Trant deals with the fallout from the Mikael's PTA meeting. Poorly.This can be read on its own, but it's really a side-scene to luminality'sDetective Boy Mikael fic, so read that first to get the most out of this. (Or not! Whatever takes your fancy.)
Relationships: Trant Heidelstam/Jean Vicquemare
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Fuck Mr. Peregrine

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [THE CASE OF THE MUDRED LAMBY](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29653293) by [luminality](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminality/pseuds/luminality). 



Jean sets his magazine down when Trant comes into the bedroom. "How's the kid?" he asks, sitting upright.

"Worried." Trant pulls his sweater vest over his head and hangs it up. "And a little anxious. He thinks it's all his fault, and that he should've just kept quiet instead of making Mr. Peregrine _upset_." Trant pronounces that final word bitterly. Jean listens from the bed, giving him space to speak.

"Do you know what his teachers told me?" Trant says, unbuttoning his shirt. "He's _disruptive._ Inattentive. Easily distracted and hyperactive. He talks too much and reads books which are inappropriate for his age and reading level." He undoes his left shirt cuff. "When did reading become _inappropriate_? I give him supplementary material because he's not being challenged at school. He talks in class because he's _bored._ And instead of encouraging his natural curiosity, or allowing him to skip ahead in the curriculum, his teachers tell him to sit down and shut up."

Trant yanks off his shirt, but his right arm gets caught in its still-buttoned sleeve. "And the worst part of it," he continues, trying to tug his wrist free, "is he's starting to _internalise_ it. He thinks he's a troublemaker, that his classmates find him weird, and that he's doing something wrong, that _he's_ wrong—why won't this fu—flipping thing come off?!"

"Trant," Jean says gently, and motions him over.

Trant holds his arm out. Jean rolls the bunched fabric back over his hand and unpicks the offending cuff. "There." He drops a kiss to Trant’s wrist and tosses the shirt aside. "Freedom."

"Thank you, love." Trant strokes Jean's bearded cheek. "Sorry. I got too agitated."

Jean shrugs. "You didn't even swear. 'Flipping'? Really?"

"Rule One of parenting is hard to break," Trant says with a smile, and he bends towards Jean and kisses him. The other man pulls him closer and they topple into bed together. It's a school night, and they have work in the morning, and they're both tired—so they don't go further than that.

"I'll talk to his mother. We're pulling him out of that school," Trant says, nosing Jean's neck.

Jean wraps his arms around him. "Good."

"I'll take some leave. I could homeschool him in the interim."

"Why not bring him to the Precinct?"

"He's a little young for work placements."

"He could groom Pryce's horse. Go for joyrides in Kitsuragi's fancy motor carriage. Shadow Judit."

"Why Judit?"

"Do you want him to shadow Torson and McLaine? Or worse, the shitkid?"

"You make a good point."

"Always fucking do.”

Trant chuckles and burrows closer. A hand settles on his head, heavy and warm, and starts stroking his hair. He listens to how air fills and empties Jean’s lungs. Feels soothed.

“Did you like school?” he asks.

“Not really,” Jean says. He sounds drowsy.

“Did you learn any useful skills?”

“Yeah. Chain-smoking and ignoring my depression.” He shifts slightly on the mattress. “Guessing you didn’t neither.”

“Unless you count truancy and delinquency as skills, no.”

“You, a _delinquent_? In your _sweater vest_?”

“It was a good cover.” Trant smiles. “For the drug-dealing.”

“ _Ma puce_ , you know I’m a cop, right? And that we work in a police station? Full of cops? Whose job it is to catch drug-dealers?”

“I don’t do it anymore.”

“I fucking hope not.”

“It was just party drugs. Nothing horrendous. I knew exactly what was going in anyway, because I made them.”

Jean sighs, his breath ruffling Trant’s hair. “Wonderful. My boyfriend’s a criminal. Good job, Jean-Heron, you sure know how to pick them.”

“It was laughably easy,” Trant forges on. “I had access to labs, could source the raw material easily, and was very _lightly_ supervised at home. And I’d spent so many years sneaking on and off school grounds that I could steal pretty much everything I’d needed and no one would know I’d done it. My teachers had written me off as a lost cause, anyway. Might as well prove them right.”

“Did you sample your supply?”

“Of course. I needed to know my product.”

“And the pyrholidon?” Jean says quietly.

“That came later. After I’d been expelled from school and my parents’ house.” He lifts his head and looks into Jean’s face. “I don’t want that to happen to Mikael.”

Jean frowns, looking confused.

“I don’t want him to ever feel worthless,” Trant explains. “Or broken. Or that he can’t talk to me about what he’s struggling with, however big or small. I want him to feel safe. And loved. And _valued_. Everything I didn’t have, I’ll give to him. As much as I can.”

Jean looks at him wordlessly, ruminating on what he’s said. Then he cups Trant’s jaw, thumb lightly brushing the line beside his mouth. “Fuck Mr. Peregrine.”

“Exactly,” Trant says, grinning. “Fuck him.”


End file.
